


The Hand And The Hair

by Selenic



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: M/M, Obsession, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenic/pseuds/Selenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cho's hand develops a thing for Jane's hair...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hand And The Hair

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to start off the new year by dusting off this old ficlet and posting it :) I wrote this way back when I first started watching The Mentalist, and forgot it when I no longer kept up with the show. Now seems as good a time as any to finally post it.
> 
> The story is totally unbetad, and slightly crackish, but it was fun to write. Just goes to show, I never know what the my Muses may throw at me, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the experience ;) Hope you will too ^_^
> 
> Crossposted [on my LJ](http://selenic76.livejournal.com/54285.html)

 

The Hand And The Hair

 

The hair caught Cho’s attention the moment he met Patrick Jane: he’d simply never seen a man with such a combination of blond and curls. Cho soon found that it perfectly represented Jane’s unpredictable behaviour; like Patrick Jane, it worked on a logic of its own, chaotic but ordered, with those seemingly messy curls somehow each day finding their familiar form. Then he thought of it no more.

Until one morning they were called to a crime scene on a beach. The hour was early, the sun barely above the horizon, and as the rosy dawn light hit Jane’s hair, it transformed into a dazzling mass of warm red-golden swirls. For a moment, Cho was mesmerized, unable to take his eyes of Jane. He didn’t realize it then, but something snapped.

After that Cho found himself taking mental note of the various shades Jane’s hair could appear to be under different conditions. The almost muted dark blond tones when Jane was deep in shadows, or when it rained, and how the usually warm golden hue drained under harsh fluorescent lights. How in the bright midday sun the lighter strands shone as bright highlights in shades closer to wheat and sand, or how sometimes a touch of red seeped through the gold, a reminder of the glow that would crown Jane’s head at each sunrise or sunset.

This kind of thinking didn’t bother Cho; his mind had a habit of cataloguing things. It only started to unnerve him when he began to wonder what it would feel like to run his fingers through those curls.

The first time the thought struck him, a wave of sudden unease rippled trough his body. He dismissed it as a trivial event—slightly odd perhaps, but trivial nonetheless.

But when his gaze started wondering towards Jane at ever increasing intervals, Cho got worried. His mind developed a very distracting hobby of charting the curves of that blond mess. The pleasure Cho felt while watching their varying forms alternated with the guilt he felt afterwards.

If that wasn’t enough, his right hand started to make small involuntary movements in Jane’s presence, as if trying to reach out towards the inviting silky-looking tangles. Cho even dreamed about it, waking up in the middle of the night with hand grasping at the sheets. He wondered if Jane had done something to him, or if he was simply going mad. 

Sometimes Jane caught Cho looking at him, or staring quizzically at his fidgety limb, but Jane made no comment. He just raised an eyebrow, or smiled, in that all-knowing way of his. Cho tried to avoid him, which made Jane even more keen to seek his company.

And as the days passed Cho’s condition only seemed to get worse, the nervous movements making his whole arm spasm.

Even the others eventually noticed something was wrong. Cho dodged any deeper enquiries by lying there was some glitch in his nerves that must be a result of tackling some suspect. He tried to convince himself to believe the same, but failed.

A few weeks of trying not to touch the damned hair had left Cho’s right arm stiff and aching. It was as if his hand had developed a life of its own, fingers twitching at the slightest sight of the blond consultant. 

Sitting at his desk in the privacy the nightshift currently provided, as everyone else was out working a case, Cho massaged the tense muscles in his arm and shoulder, enjoying the moment of peace.

“Working late I see.” Jane’s voice called out from the doorway. Cho’s arm jerked forward, hitting the edge of his desk painfully. Grabbing himself by the wrist, Cho pulled his hand back, and sat on it.

Jane peered at him, and Cho tried to appear as imperturbable as always, even though his pulse was already racing. Jane was carrying a cup of tea, and a case file. Cho suspected he’d been reading it upstairs, where he tended to sleep on occasion. The dim lights of the office created shadows that accentuated the shape of Jane’s curls, and Cho’s eyes traced their familiar lines, with a mixture of shame and bliss. The multicoloured lights of the city played on the curves, and Cho could’ve sworn his arm wanted to detach itself from his shoulder and scuttle over to Jane. This must certainly be madness.

“Nightshift,” Cho replied tersely, leaning slightly to the right to put more weight the hand. 

Jane grinned, clearly aware of Cho’s discomfort. He casually walked over to Cho’s desk, and set down his tea and folder.

“You know,” Jane started, pulling up a nearby chair, “your body’s just reacting to your subconscious desires.” He sat down just in time to see Cho blush, blue eyes full of investigative curiosity. 

A dozen denials ran through Cho’s head, but none of them made their way out of his mouth, lips pressed together in concentration as he tried to hold down his hand. Maybe if he bit on it real hard it would settle down… 

“It’s unhealthy to restrain yourself like this,” Jane pleaded softly, “when you could just follow your instincts and do what you so obviously wish to do.” And then he leaned closer and set his head on Cho’s shoulder, smiling and closing his eyes. His hair tickled Cho’s neck. “Touch it, please. You have my permission,” Jane almost purred. ”You know you’ll feel better afterwards.”

Cho held his breath for a moment, fingers digging into his thigh. Then he sighed deeply. There really seemed to be no other choice but to concede.

Carefully, with what little control over it he had left, Cho pulled the misbehaving hand from under him and let his fingers finally find their way into Jane’s hair. It felt soft, like finest silk running over his skin as Cho slowly delved into its depths, contentedly stroking and caressing each curl in turn. After the long wait, the experience was almost overwhelming. Cho could feel his tenseness drain away, and to his relief, he actually did begin to feel better. He even felt back in control of himself. Maybe there was some merit in Jane’s way of thinking. 

Cho closed his eyes, and enjoyed the relaxing motion of his hand, the warmth of Jane beneath his fingertips, and the comforting weight on his shoulder.

“Mmmm, feels nice…“ Jane mumbled. Cho had to agree. They stayed that way for a moment longer. It really felt good.

After a while Jane lifted his head, examining Cho with sleepy eyes. He smiled again, and Cho absent-mindedly made note of the charming curvature of those lips.

“Thanks,” Cho said, relaxed and a bit sleepy himself. Good thing the shift was almost over, he was looking forward to falling into his bed and having a peaceful night of hair-free dreams.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Jane told him softly, smile never leaving his face. “Anytime you need my help, just ask.” Getting up, Jane took his cooled down tea, and his folder, and headed out. 

Cho leaned back in his chair, smiling. 

And things went back to normal; solving cases, catching criminals, trying to keep Jane out of too much trouble.

Until one day, when Cho caught himself staring at Jane’s smiling lips, and wondering what they would taste like.

~~~ End ~~~

 


End file.
